Enchanted
by Raisinworths
Summary: Narcissa Eyrie. Youngest daughter of a once Great House. Youngest sister to three. Sent away, shunned and repelled, she finds her way back into society, pulled into a world about to be taken over by a underground of Chains, Contractors, and the all-encompassing Abyss. Give me a chance? :P
1. i

_**Good day!**_

_**Thanks for taking the time to read this little story of mine. While I've abandoned this account in favor of school, it's been such a long time... I decided to publish a story that I wrote years ago because of the new updates in this fandom. (Yes, please, talk to me about it, I'm still hurting and I have way too much pent up...) It isn't centered on the main characters of the manga (yet) and I'm still iffy on how to tie in the story with them, though I promise, they will come, eventually. For now, you get to deal with an OC, Narcissa Eyrie, with a past that isn't what it seems. Please, read, and if you like or if you don't,**_

_**If you don't want to do either, it's ok, but please, pm me - I need to talk about the new chapter or I'll**_**die!**

**Chapter One: An Odd Welcome Home**

No._All these children.  
We have to – it's the only fit sacrifice. For the coming of Glen.  
Voices…People. A big, black hole… a pit so deep I can't see inside.  
Do it, Maria.  
No!  
Mama… where are we going?  
Just one. I could only save… just one._

_She died to save _you_.  
Stupid, naïve girl.  
Child of misfortune.  
Her eyes aren't red.  
An abomination, nonetheless. She should be destroyed.  
Return her to the abyss!_

_Falling._

_I am lost.  
I need to get back!  
There are memories… short ones. I haven't lived my life. Feelings… I've been loved._

_Go ahead._

_I've had many friends. They came before you. They got out… so can you.  
One way or another._

_A bitter laugh. A lonely soul._

_What do you want?_

_Your memories. I want to see them. I… want to _have_ them._

_Protect it. I must protect it. What reason will I have? How can I trust…?  
But… if I don't remember… then I'll want to stay.  
I won't hurt._

_Take them. Take them all._

_Screaming.  
Red, red, red. You hurt. You hurt. GO AWAY.  
No! They're beautiful! Don't throw them away!_

_Then take them._

_Take them all and _go.

The carriage jolts to a stop, and I rouse.

"Milady. We have arrived."

I must have fallen asleep. My dreams…  
They've been getting worse. I've always had them. Whenever I go somewhere new, like my first few nights at Ottgarden, or my first few nights back, they disappear completely. And then they return. But this is a new level of intensity.  
The door swings open, and a bright light flashes, hitting my eyes. I wince. Gathering up my skirts, I climb down the carriage, taking the coachman's hand. I give him a tentative smile. He looks confused, as he loads down my baggage.

"Is… nobody coming for you?"  
We both glance at the entryway, empty of any welcoming party. He might have been expecting a maid or two, in the least. A mother or father, if I wasn't…  
"They… they're probably away."  
His face is a mixture of confusion and uncertainty, until it eventually dissolves into pity. I hate it.  
"Would you like me to wait with you?"  
"No, I wouldn't. Thank you." I imbibed the last phrase, not with gratitude, but the ice of dismissal. It feels strange, off my lips, and a part of me is angry that I'd do something so rude… but he shrugs it off, like he's used to it. Poor man.

Gathering a deep breath, I look at my things and try to figure out how to bring it all inside.

Though it took me a while to bring everything to the door (I didn't want to leave anything behind), past the gates and past the gardens, I managed it, pushing and pulling, most likely looking ungainly in my gloves and dress and stupid hat. Pressure was lax, in the country… I got away with more than I should have, in manners of dress, but it looks like I got _too_ used to it.

I lift the heavy brass knocker, rapping twice before I rest against the door. I'm not weak. But having to see _family_, I have to steel myself first.

What the-

The door gives way and I feel myself start falling backwards. I don't have time to brace myself, but I land alright – in my brother's arms. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"Don't lean against the door! I was just coming out!" Huffing and red-faced, he straightens, pulling me along.  
Crossing my arms, I retort. "It's not my fault. I was just knocking. _And_, I'm tired."  
He looks me over, his arms on my elbows. "You're not supposed to be home until next week."  
"Is _that_ what they told you?"

Our eyes lock for a moment, and I see it – right there, in his gray eyes, until he looks down to avoid me seeing. I start to recoil, but a maid arrives, obviously chasing after my brother. She has on a slightly crazed expression, and it _intensifies_ upon seeing me.

"Oh my!" She screams. Ben grabs my arm. "My lady, you have returned EARLY!"  
"Cissy, run." he commands.

I don't have any time to protest, as he dashes off, pulling me along with him. "Ben, what is going on?" I gasp. "My things…!" As we run, there's nothing I can do but watch them get smaller and smaller, farther and farther.  
"No time for that, we'll have it picked up later. You're going to live with me, for a while. Won't that be fun?" He stops running briefly to bless with me a blazing grin. I sigh, but the ground starts shaking, and we hear a big, rumbling sound, the kind that comes before an earthquake.

Oh, hell.

There is an army of servants – gardeners, lady's maids, – are there people from the _kitchen? – _coming after us, brandishing brooms, pans, rakes and bush clippers. The headmistress Cleves is running madly in the lead, accompanied by her small, strange yapping dog. She opens her mouth, letting out a battle cry.

Help.

"Look! My carriage! Right on _time_, my good man!"

Ben cheerfully lifts me up, over his shoulder, and marches into the car.  
"To the Teese mansion, if you please! And a little speed is in order!"  
"Of course, sir," says the chauffeur, bowing slightly as he closes the door.

What is going on?

Not long after we arrive at his home, Lady Mathilde has strong-armed us into settling down and having tea.

I wanted to freak out some more, just a little bit – it was fun. Something I don't have at the family home. Running from the servants; that's new. Nevertheless, there was something about the beautiful blonde angel my brother had given his heart to.

Mathilde Eyrie, nee Teese, possessor of gentle blue eyes and a thoughtful smile. She is infuriatingly beautiful. And terrifying, when necessary.

"How is the tea, Narcissa?" she asks, settling on a chair across from me. My brother is pacing, orbiting my seat and Mathilde's.  
"It calms me down, thank you." I sound like a little child. I didn't mean to.

Her face lights up, like I just presented her with a basket of flowers. Damnit. My heart just fluttered a little bit. Despite my frustration, I feel my face flush, so I look down and concentrate on getting my voice to return to normal.

"They couldn't recover your luggage. Our parents are holding them hostage."

I turn to my brother, eyeing him suspiciously. "How could you even know that?"

"It's true, dear." Even with her sweet tone, Lady 's face is a thousand times harsher than it appeared to be moments ago, though aimed at Ben. He doesn't even stop pacing to see it.

She turns to me, a placating expression on her features. "My… maid. Told him, a while ago."

Ben pauses by her chair, pecks her cheek and resumes his revolution.

Resisting the urge to stamp or whine, I gulp down the entire cup of tea. Mathilde automatically reaches out to pour more for the both of us, but I beat her to it, murmuring an apology. She shakes her head, offering me a smile that says she understands.

With a plaintive tone, I finally ask. "What's going on, Ben?"

He doesn't stop pacing, even though Mathilde is well past shooting daggers with her eyes – I could swear she's throwing cannonballs.

"It can't be helped." Proclaiming that, he stops his pacing behind me, leans over my chair, positioning his head beside mine. His gloved fingers manipulate my face (squishing it) and swivels it to face Lady Mathilde.

I don't get it. "Oudonk gudduh."

"I love her," he wheedles. "I'm in love with her, that lady, that woman, that fantastic and bombastic girl, and I am married to her." Abandoning me, he makes his way over to her side, kneeling and taking her hands. Meanwhile, the insanely attractive wife in question looks like she's trying to hold back tears. Or laughter. Why not both?

My brother, with his gray-green eyes and dark dark hair, is a bright, cheerful light of a person. His smile has been enough, a hundred times over, to pull me out of my darkest times. He deserves Mathilde; he used to be carefree and annoying, courting girl after girl after girl. However handsome he was, he obtained a reputation as a joker and a lawless flirt. Many ladies were turned away from him, deeming him a non-prospect.

Despite all this, and after countless other conquests and efforts, Lady Mathilde said yes. She's stuck by him.

And they were perfect. A union of two Great Houses, the eldest children of two old families, they painted quite the picture on their wedding day. That was seven years ago, same home and hearth, and no trace of any heirs.

They can't have children.

"Oh, Ben. Mathilde, dear."

As they grasp my understanding, a few teardrops trickle down Mathilde's cheeks, over her stagnant smile. I put down the tea things and hold out my arms, rising. "Come here, you sweet woman. Only a fool wouldn't love you."

Tears now falling freely, she runs over to me, burying her face in my shoulder. I rub her back, watching Ben, who has approached us, enveloping both of us in a crushing embrace. She feels so delicate, so tired, this strong woman who can't conceive.

It probably isn't her fault. But both of my brothers are accounted for, Dane engaged, and Colin married. With two children. This piece of information, though ordinarily a delight to an aunt, must prove to her positively damning. A constant weight, despite the pull of my brother's love.

As it ends, Mathilde pulls away, smiling at me gratefully. My brother tugs her towards him, stroking her hair.

"Has… has father called for you to remarry?"

However painful, the situation must be addressed. Mathilde seems no worse, and it hurts – I imagine she must've dealt with this, already.  
My brother holds his wife closer to him, sighing. "He's already called for representatives from the four duchies. I believe, we have left, only weeks. A month, gods willing."

I look up at him, and down at her.

I shake my head. "There has to be some other way. This is… this is too old a tradition. It's outdated, and disadvantageous to _you_, Mathilde… I know, for a fact, the Rainsworths won't stand for this."

"They only need two votes, my dear," she whispers.

I huff. "Have our brothers heard?"  
"They are on their way as we speak," says Ben.

_**And, here it is. Thank you, so very much, for getting this far. The next one will not take long. Feel free to drop a comment or a review, I love feedback. If you want me to put anything in the story, I'll do my best to fit it in, so please... just ask!**_


	2. ii

One distinct disadvantage of my lack of luggage is having to borrow dresses from my brother's wife. Oh, I hear little sisters should _love_ this – Don't I, big brother? Don't I look grown-up and _feminine_ in Big Sister's clothes? Aren't I _lovely_?

No. I'm miserable. This dress pulls tight at my thighs and my stomach, and deflates pitifully below the neck. I am so _ashamed._

The maids are gone, presumably off to warn the others that I have stirred and will be needing breakfast. But I can't stop looking _down_. With two fingers, I pinch and pull at least _two inches_ free of loose material – I didn't feel this bad before, I swear!

Oh, wait. The neckline is modest enough. I wonder…

Pulling out an old handkerchief I had in my reticule, I say a silent prayer, looking for an edge to grasp. All edges are smooth, no frayed ends. Finding no purchase, I hold it up to my teeth, bite, pull…  
Aw. This won't do.

One cut is a third of the other. Eh, it'll have to do. Maybe I can even it out somehow…

"GOOD MORNING!"

Damndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamndamn

"BEN! Get out!"

I hunch over to shield myself from his _eyes_ and his _vision_ and I'm _mortified, _tearing pieces of cloth out of my dress.

He walks over, trying to lean over my back. "What are you doing? It looks highly suspicious. I was right to investigate."  
"No, you were _not! _You're not supposed to barge into a _girl's_ room, I could have been doing bloody anything, get out, get out, I'm not ready!"

Oh my god, this is harder than it should be. I think one of the pieces got stuck somehow.

"Language. Pah. Whatever you might do, I've probably seen it all. I'm married, remember?"

"I'm your _sister_, you can't-"

My grip breaks loose, and the cloth breaks _free_ – with the momentum, I hold it out high in front of me. Worse than the possible glimpse of my discretion this might have afforded him, I realize, I was in front of the mirror, the whole time.

"Well, that's weird! Was this cloth stuck in your dress?'

I squeal a battle cry.

He is _finished._

How would you like your dignity?

Bitter.

Bitter and cold.

* * *

"Good morning, Narcissa!"

I try to smile at her, but her husband's ugly mug annoys me more.

"I hope you are feeling better." Her tone has a question at the end, implying she doesn't know anything, but I react before I think, shoving an angry expression down my brother's direction. He raises his hands, palms open, in supplication.

"Whatever it is, darling, she has hopefully beaten out of me earlier. I was ever so innocently just trying to greet her a good morning."

"You were not!"

He sighs. God's blood, what a condescending sigh. I have half a mind to beat it out of him. Instead, I sit down at the table, and reach for the bread, the butter, and a knife that I will most definitely avoid throwing at my brother's head.

"Colin arrived last night, so he might sleep in. As for Dane, I received a missive earlier this morning, saying that his carriage stopped at one of the outer towns for the night. He should be by soon."

I don't look up, staring down my breakfast. Silence falls upon the table, as we all avoid talk of the inevitable.

"I'm sorry."

Despite my earlier mood, I seem to have caught their attention. I can feel their eyes on me, curious, wondering, maybe expectant.

"For… you know. If I were a better… different.. sort of person, maybe you wouldn't have to do this, you know? Have to worry about this kind of thing."  
However vague my wording and short my temper, this kind of apology has always come easy to me. When it's drilled into your head, all day, all night, every time you are seen, that you are wrong and less than worthless, apologies like this come out numb and loose from the tongue.

"I don't know what you're talking about," my brother scoffs.

Peering at him from behind my bread, he pointedly ignores me, suddenly looking busy with his food.

The honey haired angel at the foot of the table rescues us from this emotional pit of depression.  
"Oh, Narcissa, the dress is _divine_ on you. I didn't know if it would fit…"  
Really? If you must know, it doesn't.  
"…you're so much taller than me…"  
Ah, height. The bane of my existence. I'm the male average height, you see, and disastrously unfashionable as a member of the fairer sex.  
"…and slimmer…"  
At the chest, you mean. Below that, I worry for the seams.  
"…and blue, it just brings out the color of your eyes!"

My brother drops his fork, offended. "Her eyes are grey."  
"Of course, dear," his wife responds, tiredly.  
"Like mine," he continues.  
"But better," she continues.  
"Please go on," I implore, and though I might have said that out loud, I almost don't care.

The door opens demurely, as a maid marches in to tell us of the news. "My Lord, one brother is awake. And the other has arrived."

* * *

The day is bright, but we are all standing outside, along with a line of attendants for Dane's arrival. The Lord and Lady of the house are at the head of the assemblage, followed closely by Colin and I.

"You look so tired," I point out, hanging on to his arm for his sake and not mine. "Have you been sleeping well?"

Grey eyes, and dark hair, a shade lighter brown to Ben's, the spitting image of the elder less run through time and dishevel. He runs his gloved hand through his matted locks, and bringing it down to his mouth, barely suppressing a yawn.  
"The twins, I'm afraid. When one wakes, the other follows. This is the best sleep I've had in months,"

"Cut short?" I offer, sympathetically.  
He gives me a toothy grin. "Nah. Susie's fine. She can handle the kids better than I ever could. Besides, I was thinking of coming down for _you_, anyway." An arm absently rears and drapes over my shoulders, as the other blocks his tired eyes from the glare of the sun. "Thought you'd be a month off."

This was worse. I cast my eyes down, and he notices. "Aww, don't worry about that. I'm sure they had a reason."  
Mumble. "Not a good one,"

Firmly propping his hand on my head, Colin looks over my head to Mathilda. "Tilly, how is it that you look so wonderful this time of day?"

Growling, Ben pulls his wife closer to him. "Oi. Don't flirt with my wife, you have yours."

"It's difficult," Mathilde states, calmly extricating herself from his bear grip. I contemplate doing the same to mine, but it's hopeless. Of my three brothers, Colin is the largest, followed by Dane, abnormally tall. However, Ben is the most overbearing.  
"However, you manage."

Mathilde turns on her 100 watt smile, and even if it's not directed at me, I feel the glare. I'm still blinking from the flash as Dane executes his grand entrance; two exquisite black horses pulling along a carriage, piled high with suitcases and hatboxes.

"Despite this, _I_ am the woman," I declare, to remind us all.

Howling like a wolf, Colin surges forward as the carriage pulls to a stop. He strikes as soon as the door opens, grasping my slimmer brother around his waist and holding him aloft like a child.

Ben joins in. "You might not be fair, but you are so pretty~"

Dane has an aquiline nose, and though his face his angular, his lips are curved and soft-looking, like a girl's. How many times I've looked at those and wished that I had inherited them; oh, he must have stolen all the feminine genes and left none for me on his way out.

"Put me down," he complains, distinctly uncomfortable, red in the face and hissing. "We are not children! And don't do this in front of _women_-"  
He shoots a panicked glare at Mathilde and I, and I snap. There's just something so cheery and warm, feeling Mathilde's arm linked to mine and watching one of my brothers toss the others around.

I laugh, and they're laughing with me.  
I'm laughing with family.

* * *

"This is depressing," Colin sighs, his bear voice pulling my spirits down with him. "There doesn't seem to be much we can do."  
He has crashed on the largest armchair, an open book resting on his lap. I'm surrounded by books, documents and papers, scattered across my skirts and on this chaise. Ben is at the desk. Dane is looking over the higher shelves, perched on the ladders, looking for one more book, one more dossier, one more… anything.

We have, for the moment, nothing.

Mathilde has retired for the night, and jackets have been discarded. I'm so tired.

"Legal documents, stating my marriage to a Mathilde Tesla Teese. Letters and official documents, stating that our marriage is legal, and recognized. Footnotes, declarations, not until death do we part… unless we do not produce progeny, in the span of seven years, what a harrowing, outdated _rule._"

Ben swipes at a pile of paper on his desk, scattering the sheets into space. I stare at them, fingers holding my eyelids apart.

"We're going at this the wrong way. We could send out feelers. Intercept the representatives, before they make their decision, and present our case." Dane hops off the ladder, walking over to pick up the pages. Ben shoots him a dirty look.

"I suppose I could just beg them, please, don't take Father's money, don't listen to his sniveling attempts at higher station, nothing is ever enough for him, don't succumb to his wheedling voice and petty bribery, he is a danger to society-"

"Ben."

My voice makes its appearance, coming out as tired and as weary as I feel. I can't even look at hum, I'm slumped on the chaise, my limbs akimbo.

The desk makes a screeching sound in protest; he pushes it roughly away from him getting up and sweeping out of the room. Colin watches, helplessly, but Dane jumps up and follows him. "Dane," I cry, pulling myself up

Colin catches my wrist, as I pass by. "Cissy."  
"Yes."

He sighs.

"Talk to him, will you?"

* * *

This being his house, Ben knows the grounds so very much better than Dane or I do.  
What's worse is that his route involves the hedge maze, of all places, and it's unnecessarily terrifying, at _any_ time of day, and my sense of direction is hopeless and stupid.

Dane is running ahead of me, still naively believing that he can find his way out alone. Well, he can't.

"Dane, stop. He's gone."

He turns to me, and his face is frightening – I'm too tired, irritated, and _hungry_ to care. As **ceremoniously** as possible, I fall into an ungraceful heap amid the menacing brambles, obviously meticulously trimmed. They don't seem less intimidating, now that they're in uniform shape; I see regimented, previously-convicted twigs and thorns, poised to attack.

"Fuck it."

I blink, shocked speechless at such a crass word, coming from my oh-so-dainty brother.

"He's gone, and mad, and it's not my fault."

His hands are on his hips, and he has a distinctly maniacal glint in his eye. His feet won't stop tapping, tapping, tapping, his hair long enough to gather in a small ponytail messy and protuberant; strands sticking to his forehead.

"It's not my fault, I'm engaged. I'm perfectly within my rights. You're an old maid," he points at me. "At nineteen, you should be married. At eighteen, you should've been betrothed. You're petulant, disobedient, careless and selfish-"

"Who the _fuck_ are you calling selfish?"

My face is hot as I scramble to my feet. I tear off the heels, waving them around as I retort in kind.

"You don't even _like _Isabella. Your fiancé is a hag. She will never give you, or any of us peace, because you're a coward and a _liar_, and you're marrying a _bitch_ like her."

I learned all these words from the country. I don't know what he was thinking, coming at me like this, but I'm tired and apparently petulant, he deserves to listen.  
She bullied me; the only thing I could ever have against her torment was the fact that _my_ family name, however insulted, carried more weight than hers ever could.

Oh, what hell rose inside me when my brother declared their engagement. What betrayal colored my vision, forever putrefying whatever was left of home that wasn't soiled.

"You know I can't-" he starts, but I don't let him.  
"You know _I_ can't."

He stares me down, and I don't relent, gripping my shoes tight under white knuckles.

His voice, when it returns, is calmer than he has any right to be.

"The… kind of love, I have, is not welcome anywhere I know how to _be_." He closes his eyes, completely relaxing. "With people like us, it's shunned."

I don't care what people say.  
I may not understand.  
But loving a man, even if you are one, doesn't feel like a crime.  
However, he isn't the only one with a restriction.

"And there's the problem."  
Depressingly calm, I move forward, pulling at his shirt so he's propelled towards me. His eyes drift open, steel grey looking down at mine, too blue.

It comes out a whisper.

"I'm not like you,"

* * *

_**Here it is.**_

**Longer, and still, I'm afraid, backstory. I see people have been reading it, but I don't blame you - it's on fanfiction, and there's only been ****_one_**** mention of whoever we're supposed to be fans of, and even that was the name. But when I do get into the plot, I'll put it up there on the description - something along the lines of 'skip to chapter ~; anything before that is backstory'.  
**It'll be a challenge to write without referencing earlier chapters, but I'll figure something out.

In the meantime, if you've made it this far, thank you.  
Thank you very, very much.


	3. iii

_"__Shhhh! This is _my _hiding place! Get your own!"__  
__Dane grumbles something, pushing me in the closet and closing it behind him. "Be quiet! Anyway, you chose a good one, so if he doesn't find me, he won't find you either."__  
__I see his point. And, the other possibility, as well.__  
__I'm glaring at him, but there's no light, so he couldn't possibly see. Time ticks by. It's really very dark._

_My hand reaches out for a fistful of his shirt, and he jumps, letting out a squeal. "Cis! What did you do that for?"  
"I was scared!"  
"Well I am, too!"  
Sighing impatiently, my brother gropes for the edge. _

_"__Maybe we can open it a little. Just to let the light in."  
"Okay."_

_I wince, because there's a disproportionately noisy creak.  
"Oh no, that's the door!"  
I grab him, pulling him back so he doesn't make any more noise. His heart is loud and beating fast. So is mine. For a while, that's all we hear, until…_

_"__That child. How is she?" A male voice. He doesn't talk like a servant. It's not Father's, either.  
"Playing with her brothers." That's Mom!_

_I carefully disentangle myself from my brother's grasp, leaning over slightly to get a better peek through the crack.  
"Who is it?" Dane whispers.  
Strange. I don't see very much, and I can't risk moving the door any further. I catch a sight of strange white robes, and long red hair. A fan. Its design isn't familiar at all. The man lets out a small, dignified snort, as a reply to my mother. It's the kind that riles. _

_"__She has adapted well to your family."  
Mother sighs, and I can hear a smile fall in her voice.  
The man continues. "How is your husband taking it?"  
"Paranoid." _

_Dane gropes around for my hand. I take it. _

_"__Somehow he's afraid. He thinks society won't buy it – you've seen it yourself, her eyes are too blue." Dane squeezes my fingers. "I warn you. He won't rest until he finds a loophole. He'll try to get rid of her."  
The strange man scoffs, holding up his paper fan. "He won't. I made sure of it. If he puts her in any danger, he will hear from me."_

_The room is silent. Mother's response takes too long. I fear we've been discovered. _

_"__Oh, don't do that." _

_Mine and Dane's breathing restart. Mother slides into my meager view, and she gently touches his face with her hand, bringing it closer. My heart beats fast. _

_"__He was always very jealous of you,"_

* * *

_Dane and I spill out into the garden, trying to get as far away as possible from the scene of the crime. We weren't found, and the game was long gone – we saw Ben and Colin getting dragged to tea earlier._

_Not long after the exchange, Mama and the strange man swept away from the room. After a few minutes, Dane and I escaped. It would look too suspicious if we were found anywhere in the vicinity. _

_As soon as I'm done gasping, I turn to him.  
"What do you think that meant?"_  
_He shakes his head. "You don't want to know. But that's okay. I'll protect you."  
"From what? Do you think he was dangerous?"_

_He gives me a strange look, and then turns his gaze to the house. _

_"__You don't know what they were talking about, do you?"  
I stomp over to him, pulling his face up for his eyes to meet mine. My gaze demands answers._

_"__You're adopted,"_

_Just like it's the most typical thing in the world._

* * *

My brother and I part.

My heart's beating has resumed it's quiet thrum; my brother's gaze is cast down. The air is thick with exhaustion. Physical. Emotional.

"When-"  
My face twists with pain; I can't pinpoint the exact moment we became strangers. We used to be so close. It used to make me strong, that whatever storm or heavy weather I had them, even if I didn't have any right to, and I suppose the truth just had to come up and get in the way. And the worst kind of gift with the worst kind of pain is a beautiful one that is taken away.

I didn't need it. I wanted it, that's different. I didn't need it, but I had it, and when I couldn't live without it, it was gone. Just gone. Just no more letters, no more gifts, he stopped looking at me, talking to me, and then one day he came home with _her_.

"When what?"

He squints at the dark gray sky, and I just watch him, my eyes stinging with tears that feel like falling. But they don't.

"When did all this come from?" I wave a hand in the air, indicating the air. The animosity."The hate."  
"Don't be ridiculous. I don't hate you."  
"But you blame me,"

He doesn't say anything, and I wait, but it never comes. I hate how I react.  
I have to turn, because angry, angry tears are running down my cheeks, and my fists are balled up because I want to hit something.

"That's what's wrong with _me_," He finally says, sounding so convinced. "And you. _You_ blame yourself. It's contagious."  
"I can't help it," I reply. You were supposed to be there for me.  
I want to run away. But I don't know my way out, so I just gather up my skirts and take off my shoes. The sun is gone, so the stone has cooled.

_She was my mother too,_ I want to cry.  
But she wasn't.

* * *

I don't bother greeting my brothers as we enter the main hall. I feel their gazes on me as I march on, going straight to my room. Dane enters not long after I do, starting his apologies.

I'm not in the mood for his platitudes.

"Cissy?"

Mathilde is there, looking like she just left my door. "I was dropping off some more dresses for you. What's wrong?"

There's just something about the utter kindness in her voice, the _worry_. She doesn't know anything, I've nothing to do with her but she cares anyway. My face grows hot again. I shake my head, squeaking out an apology. "I'm sorry, I can't."

Pushing past her, I close the door quietly before really breaking down.

* * *

_Dane sheds his jacket, eyes flashing. He's always so happy when he comes home, so excited. I wonder if this is how I'll feel when I'm old enough.  
He pulls me to his room, dropping a dossier on his bed. I drop down to examine it._

_"__He never goes out of his manor. I found records from school – he was really popular! But he's older than we thought! He was a senior when mom was new." _

_I can't help the excitement that's seeping into my voice. "So how did they meet?"  
He flashes me a grin. "I'm not into that yet. He hasn't left his house in years – but I might have an in."  
"An in?"  
"I met this Reim guy. From House Lunettes - I bumped into him at school. Apparently he's under some sort of sponsorship from the Duke. I guess, if I befriend him, I can get him to sneak me in somehow."_

_ "__Dane… I don't want you to get in trouble. And you can't be that guy."_

_He looks up at me, a furrow in his brow. "What kind of guy?"_

_I give him a look for a minute, and then push off his bed. "Aw, I mean… I don't want this to stop you from having friends. You can't let this get in the way of that. I don't want you to stick with people you don't even like for… well, for me. I want you to have fun."_

_My brother snorts. God, he's gotten so good at that. Is that the first thing they teach?_

_"__Who says I don't like him?"_

_I whirl. His face is red. "Like… he could be a real friend. That's all."_

We treated it like a game. That's what you do when you're a child. We never shared our revelation with the others; it was a secret we kept between us, bribing servants, listening to rumors. I got all the magic and all the wonder without the stigma. I could be anyone – a political refugee, a secret princess – I was a _child,_ stuck in a big house, there wasn't any fanciful idea I didn't run away with.

The search took a turn when Dane was old enough for Lutwidge. Suddenly, he was getting all these documents, all this information. It scared me, then. The whole thing was becoming real. This man was becoming solid. Credible. The possibility that my family wasn't mine, turning into a reality from a net of vague words and-possibly- misheard conversation.

**I wanted to stop.**

_This was the tenth time, this month.  
Same modus operandi – he'd retire to his room, not the first and not the last so as to be inconspicuous, wait a while, and when the lights went out, he snuck outside, fully-dressed, paid a servant and left.  
I wasn't sure where he was going, but I knew what he was up to.  
I don't know how much of this he was still doing for me._

**Dane wouldn't.**

_"_I_ know where your sicko brother's been going. I've seen him."  
My grip on the fork goes slack. She caught me. "What do you mean?"  
Isabella is just so thrilled that she has something else to hold over my head. I hate her, I hate her, I hate her. _

**Mom got sicker.**

_"__Where are they?"  
Ben reaches out, gathering me in his arms. "They're in mom's room. She's… she's not doing well. She's been sick for a while, but… never this bad. Never this bad."  
My arms reach around him, holding him tight. _

**The words got louder.**

_Lady Eyrie was too old to have another child. Look at her. Her eyes are blue. Where would she get that? She's a distant cousin… inbred… It was a scandal. Bastard. She's a bastard child. Illegitimacy… no wonder the Master hates her. He's going to send her away. As soon as the Lady passes…_

**The rumors spread.**

_Colin never got into fights. He was goaded into them, because he was tall, and large, and strong. Still, I know he prided himself on his self-control.  
The sweat dampening his shirt and the blood on his skin scared me. "Not mine," he reassures me, pulling me into his arms.  
"You didn't have to," I whisper, tears running down my cheeks. I wipe them away as soon as they come down. No one can see.  
"They were talking about you…" His voice is sad. So sad. "And mother…"_

**So did her illness.**

_"__You'll need to wear black for a few months. That is, if you get out of the house."  
Long after the maids have finished, and have long since gone, I resolve to myself that there would not be a need._

**We stopped talking.**

_"__Go away, Cissy."_

And I was left alone.

* * *

The knocking on the door comes, anyway.

It's well into the night. I wasn't trying to make a statement with my absence at the dinner table – the idea of seeing Dane or Mathilde or Ben scared me enough to stave off my appetite.  
However, right now, I was hungry, very hungry, and it took constant reminding of my earlier mortification to put me off stealing down the halls and sneaking into the kitchen.

Straightening myself up, I pull myself to my feet and move to open the door.

Standing in the doorway, half-expected, half-relieved, is my bear of a brother, Colin. Better yet, in his arms is a tray of food.

My eyes say all I want to say.

"I know."

* * *

**_This is the end of the third chapter. And, still only backstory. You see, I hate myself. Well, I give up, I'm fixing the titles and changing the description. Slightly more mention of the PH characters in this one, and an implication to one of the connections. Well, I'll leave you with this. :) Thanks for reading._**


End file.
